


X-Mas

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the bedroom had been the calm, waters unnaturally still and the air pregnant with waiting, then downstairs was the hurricane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	X-Mas

Xander lounged. The bed was warm and comfortable, silk humming against his skin whenever he shifted, cradling him when he didn’t. Beside him was a cool body, as naked as Xander was, curled around Xander comfortably. Tousled curls tickled Xander’s chest, occasionally distracting whenever Spike moved his head—despite their lack of gel, hair in his nose would _still_ make him sneeze—more often comforting, offering Xander a perfect target to pet and absently smooth.

He felt incredibly content. Thoroughly sated and full, happily ensconced in his ocean of calm.

“Think we should tell him?”

Xander grinned, though he didn’t chuckle. That would make Spike shifter irritably, muttering about sensitive hearing and too-loud louts, and he didn’t want Spike to move yet. “Nah. It’s more fun like this.”

Why _talking_ didn’t disturb Spike the way laughing did, Xander hadn’t asked. He knew what the answer would be, and for once didn’t want to play the straight man. Or, well, _bent_ man.

A whirlwind stormed its way into the bedroom, rummaging through various piles, grabbing bits of things and then vanishing.

“We should probably offer to help,” Spike pointed out. His tone indicated that while they should, Spike wasn’t going to.

“We should. Um. Later?”

“You’re just lazy, fat man.”

“Duh, skinny stick figure.” The insults were old, worn, and as comfortable as a pair of faded jeans. Xander’s arm tightened around Spike’s back, his palm flat against messy curls and a scalp that gave off no heat. “Besides, he’s enjoying himself.”

A stream of curse words strong enough to strip paint rose up after the sound of something crashing and possibly breaking. Spike shifted enough to lift his head. “Not so sure that’s enjoying.”

Xander laughed, taking advantage of the shift in mood to get to his feet and try and find his robe. Spike pouted at him, obviously missing his bedwarmer, but joined in the hunt for his own black robe, managing to find both and handing Xander’s green one over. Xander smiled his thanks and slid on his slippers. “That’s because you missed last year,” he said as they went downstairs.

“Hey! Wasn’t my fault, was it?”

Oops. He’d forgotten that last year’s brief trip had taken Spike a not-so-brief time to detangle enough that he could come back home. “I didn’t say it was,” Xander replied. He’d learned long ago that getting angry or upset for every little thing was the wrong way to go for him. He was so much more effective when he was calm and unflappable. Well, most of the time. It wasn’t like he didn’t indulge in hysterical laughing or rule-breaking when he wanted to—he just didn’t get so wound up over the little things. “But you _did_ miss it, so you’ve never seen him like this. I forgot.”

If the bedroom had been the calm, waters unnaturally still and the air pregnant with waiting, then downstairs was the hurricane. Things were moved—tossed, in some cases—with inaccurate efficiency, sliding haphazardly to lay in messy piles. The tree was only half decorated, the rest waiting in insecure boxes scattered around the room to offer convenient places to trip and fall on ones ass. The scent of cooking food wafted up from the kitchen, though Xander could detect a hint of something burning. He sighed, disengaging from Spike’s leech-like hold to go and turn whatever it was off.

“Don’t touch that!”

Xander turned the burner off anyway. Something coated the bottom of the pot black and Xander didn’t want to try and identify it. “It was burning,” he pointed out evenly.

Thin lenses did nothing to shield the annoyance in Giles’ eyes. “It was not,” Giles snapped, just whining enough that something snickered from the living room. “It was perfectly fine and now you’ve ruined it.”

Uh huh. “I’m very sorry,” he said, transferring the pot to the sink before Giles could decide to try and salvage the wreck. “How about I try and make something, to replace it?”

“Xander, in the three years that you and I have been living together, who does more of the cooking?”

“That’d be you, of course. But just because you cook more doesn’t mean I _can’t_.”

Giles crossed his arms over his half-undone robe and scowled. Fortunately, help came from the living room. “Er, Rupert? You sure you want the candles so close together like this, when they’re lit? Don’t fancy being burned to ash by my lover, when he’s not pissed off at me for something.”

“Spike! I am not going to burn the bloody house down! I have been doing this for _years_ , you could be civil enough to leave me to it!” 

Giles charged out of the kitchen, intent on doing, well, something. Xander wasn’t sure what it was with only snippets of the conversation to go by and didn’t care. Surveying the kitchen, he managed to figure out what Giles had been trying to cook—gravy, although why he was making gravy _now_ when the goose hadn’t even been prepared, he’d no idea—and began taking over the process. He kept a weather ear out for the living room, waiting for Spike’s voice to go tight with actual strain as opposed to the keep-Giles-occupied-strain that was more amusement and love than anything else. Then he called Giles over, playing clueless boytoy, while Spike did some actual cleaning and decorating in the living room.

It went like that all day, both of them tossing Giles between them like a hot potato while food was prepared, their home made spotless and beautiful. After an hour or so, Xander was pretty sure Giles knew what they were doing—they weren’t making it a secret, after all. But then he’d get caught up in some unseen issue and drive all self-awareness out of his head again.

It was adorably cute.

By two o’clock, everything was done. Well, not _done_ , since the food needed some watching, with a few more items to be cooked later, but those were just little things. The major tasks had been accomplished, mostly by sending Giles out for wine when he got a little too worked up over how the crystal ornaments were supposed to hang on the tree. Spike had been about to give in to the shouting match Giles _clearly_ wanted...

Settling comfortably on the sofa, Xander wasn’t surprised when Spike immediately curled up into his lap. Spike was extremely tactile, something both his lovers appreciated and enjoyed immensely. “Is he like this every year?” Spike asked, playing up his exhaustion.

“Well, he wasn’t in Sunnydale, if that’s what you’re asking. But yeah, ever since we all moved to London, he’s been kinda crazy with the holiday spirit. He wants it to be perfect, I think.”

Spike snorted. “Which turns him into a raving lunatic of a bear, since he can’t.”

“Well, he second-guesses himself. And panics. And turns into a raving lunatic of a bear, yes.” They shared a grin, that turned into a short kiss. “Thanks for playing fetch with me, today. I know you aren’t a Christmas fan.”

Spike shrugged and cuddled even closer. “It’s not that I don’t _like_ it. Just never seem to be in the right place to enjoy it properly so I started ignoring it entirely.” That quieted them both for a minute, struggling to push down the memories. It wasn’t like they were all bad—but Xander had had similar feelings towards the holidays for years and didn’t want to be reminded. When you told me Rupert went all out for Christmas,” Spike said abruptly, “I didn’t think you meant all out in the traditional sense, you know.”

“Oh, yeah. I think it’s this family togetherness thing we all have.” And continued to have, after more than three years. Xander wondered if it’d ever go away—and then shuddered. God, no, please, he liked his life. “None of us have had the happiest of childhoods—except Buffy, but her Christmas traditions suck—so he’s giving us his.”

“It’s precious, it is,” Spike said, though there was sincerity underneath the snark.

“Yup.” They remained where the were, watching the fire burn merrily away, until Xander glanced at the clock. Giles was due home any moment. “So,” he said reluctantly. “We should probably go get dressed and stuff. So he’ll have _absolutely_ nothing to yell at us about.”

“You get off on taking the wind out of his sails, don’t you?”

Xander stared. “And you _don’t_?” Spike’s smile was beatific. Xander kissed it. “C’mon. Up and dressed.”

“You two will do _no_ such thing!”

Wide-eyed, Spike and Xander sat up. “Er. We won’t?”

“No. You will not. I am fully aware of how I act on Christmas and the two of you have managed to take care of all the details without sending me into an arse-tearing rage. You should both be highly complimented on such a feat.” Giles’ eyes twinkled behind his glasses, the smile playing on his lips doing _nothing_ to stop both Spike’s and Xander’s reaction to hearing Giles speak in such a ... authoritative voice. “I figure blow-jobs should be sufficient recompense, yes? Therefore, no, you won’t be going upstairs and putting on clothes.”

Their robes were off their bodies in seconds, Spike already helping Giles out of his shirt while Xander attacked his pants. 

Giles looked at both of them and chuckled, lust as equally present in his voice as love. Then he glanced at the clock. “Well, not for an hour, anyway.”


End file.
